https://www.facebook.com/2249315148492089/

Janeth S. Felker, 100 S Grand Avenue, Los Angeles, CA (2026)

10/14/2026

My wife and I have built a stable life together, and she currently stays home to care for our two wonderful children. I'm a software engineer, bringing in a steady income that comfortably supports our family needs. We've always focused on being financially responsible to build a strong nest egg for retirement and the kids' future college funds.

Lately, she started binge-watching several popular medical television shows during her free time. This entertainment quickly turned into a sudden obsession with the idea of becoming a doctor herself. Now, she's actively trying to convince me to pay for her applications to numerous medical schools across the country.

I feel this is a foolish decision for several glaring reasons. For starters, she earned a communications degree eleven years ago and hasn't stepped foot in a classroom since graduation. Furthermore, she hasn't even taken the prerequisite classes or the MCAT exam required for admission.

She stubbornly refuses to study for the MCAT because she thinks the preparation will delay her new timeline. I find this logic flawed because those exams are a crucial part of the process. Applying without taking the necessary tests feels like throwing our hard-earned money out the window.

Even if by some slim chance a medical program accepts her, the enormous tuition costs would wreck our finances. The financial burden of a long medical program would undo years of careful saving. We'd also have to figure out extensive childcare arrangements, adding even more strain to our budget.

I gently tried explaining to her that her current approach isn't realistic for our family situation. I suggested she try a smaller step first, such as training to become a certified nursing assistant or a registered nurse. This path would allow her to get a taste of the medical field before jumping straight into a doctorate.

She immediately grew angry with my suggestion and claimed I was unsupportive. She loudly declared that I'm trying to steal away her career aspirations and crush her newfound dreams. I reminded her I'd fully support a nursing career, but she rejected that idea out of hand.

To clarify, I never forced her to abandon a career to manage childcare duties. She specifically asked to become a stay-at-home mother shortly after we got married, and I respected her choice. In addition to working full-time, I still do a third of the housework to ensure she doesn't carry the domestic load alone.

Regarding our finances, any major purchase over a thousand dollars must be approved by both of us. We don't restrict each other's casual spending, but large-scale decisions require mutual agreement to maintain our stability. Since her plan to submit fifty applications significantly exceeds that limit, I told her I won't approve the transaction.

People suggested I let her apply to a handful of schools, but she stubbornly shot down that compromise. I've tried finding a reasonable middle ground since she wants to submit fifty applications, yet she rejects all my alternative ideas. Am I wrong?

10/14/2026

My wife and I got married during the early, chaotic days of the pandemic, meaning our grand plans shrank to a living room ceremony. We couldn't go on a honeymoon due to lockdowns, so we packed the dream away for later. We have been married for over a year now, and in that time, my daily reality has been nothing but hospital walls and endless shifts.

I work as a doctor, and the last year has ground me down to a severe level of burnout. I work most weekends, cover emergency shifts, and function on coffee and fragmented sleep. Due to the strict nature of my hospital’s scheduling, I am only allowed to take significant leave twice a year, and those slots are fiercely competitive.

Meanwhile, my older brother got engaged during the pandemic and started planning his massive, traditional wedding for this year. We were thrilled for him, and I immediately looked at my calendar to make sure I could secure the time off for his big day. As I was staring at the hospital's leave roster, I realized something important about my own schedule.

The only remaining window I had to take my two weeks of vacation for the entire year fell exactly around my brother's wedding date. My wife and I had been saving diligently since our own micro-wedding, and we desperately needed a reset. We found a beautiful overseas resort that would be the perfect, long-delayed honeymoon to finally celebrate our marriage.

The only catch was the timing. Because of my rigid hospital shifts, we would have to book our outbound flight for the morning right after my brother’s wedding reception. My wife, being the thoughtful person she is, immediately tapped the brakes.

She told me I should probably speak to my brother and our parents first, just to make sure they wouldn't be hurt by us slipping away so quickly after the festivities. I thought that was incredibly considerate, so I picked up the phone that same week. I explained the hospital’s leave policy, the burnout, and the flight times to both my parents and my brother.

Everyone was completely understanding and gave us their full blessing. My brother told me he was just happy I could make the ceremony, and my parents said we deserved the break after the year I’d had at the hospital. With their explicit approval, I pulled the trigger, paid for the non-refundable flights, and booked the overseas resort.

Everything was fine for months. Then, about eight weeks before the wedding, I was on a casual Sunday phone call with my parents. I casually mentioned running to the store to grab some travel gear, and my mom paused.

She asked me what trip I was talking about, sounding genuinely bewildered. I reminded her about the delayed honeymoon, the one we had discussed in detail, the one leaving the day after the reception. The tone of the conversation shifted instantly.

My parents acted completely shocked, asking how I could possibly plan a vacation right on the heels of my brother's milestone event. It was incredibly weird, because I knew for an absolute fact that we had discussed this, but suddenly they were acting like I was dropping a bomb on them. I got off the phone feeling deeply unsettled, hoping it was just a strange misunderstanding.

The very next afternoon, my phone rang while I was charting files in the breakroom. It was my brother.

10/13/2026

Am I wrong for buying my own fancy soap after my wife banned me from hers?

So my wife bought this absurdly expensive soap from some tiny boutique. It came in a little frosted glass bottle wrapped in twine, with branding like ""notes of pine, regret, and artisanal disappointment."" She set it on the bathroom counter and informed me, very seriously, that it was ""for guests.""

Here's the thing. We don't have guests. Ever. Okay, maybe once every couple of months. I pointed that out, but apparently the thought of a visitor seeing us wash our hands with commoner soap was too horrifying to bear. So the fancy bottle just sat there untouched, enshrined like the Mona Lisa.

Fast forward a few weeks. I run out of my regular cheap soap — the cracked plastic one with a pump that wheezed like a dying guinea pig. Dirty hands, no options, so I caved and used a single pump of the holy grail.

She walked in mid-pump. She looked at me like I'd microwaved a Fabergé egg. She said I was wasting it, that it ""isn't for everyday hands.""

That did something to me. So I went out and did the unthinkable.

I bought my own fancy soap. Thirty bucks. Grapefruit and cedar — smells like a lumberjack who went to therapy. I set it proudly on my side of the sink and declared that this one was mine, and only I had the right to use it.

And just like that, it was Cold War: Soap Edition.

That evening I caught her over her shoulder, scrolling Etsy for even more soap bottles. Like she wanted to one-up me. At this point I'm half-tempted to invite people over just to make sure they use my soap and not hers.

She says I'm mocking her now and turning basic cleanliness into a competition. I told her she's the one who built the soap caste system — I just refused to be born into the peasant class.

She hasn't spoken to me in two days. But I smell incredible.

I don't think wanting to use soap in my own bathroom makes me the villain, and I definitely didn't start the whole ""this is for special people"" rule.

But I'll be honest, I didn't have to escalate it into a thirty-dollar revenge purchase and a turf war over the sink. I could've just bought a normal bottle and let it go instead of needling her about inviting guests to snub her soap. Maybe I'm enjoying winning this a little too much.

Tell me — AITA?

10/13/2026

My husband and I wanted a wedding that actually felt like ours, which meant keeping the guest list tight. We booked a small botanical garden space, capped the headcount at a little over sixty people, and decided to make it family only.

The only exceptions we made were a maid of honor and a best man. We just wanted a quiet, low-stress day with the people who actually mattered to our daily lives.

I'm an only child, and on my mom's side, there aren't any cousins at all. My dad's brother, however, made up for the deficit by having six kids in rapid succession.

Out of those six cousins, I only actually grew up close to one of them. The rest were basically holiday acquaintances—people I shared blood with but hadn't had a real conversation with in over a decade.

When I sat down to draft the guest list, I only wrote down my one close cousin and his long-term girlfriend. My mother took one look at my notepad, sighed, and told me I was about to ignite a generational family war.

She insisted that if I invited one, I absolutely had to invite the other five for the sake of fairness. I didn't want a cloud of drama hovering over my planning, so I caved and mailed out the extra invitations.

What I didn't expect was that not only would all five of those estranged cousins check ""yes,"" but four of them would write in their significant others without asking. My husband and I had specifically cut our own close friends from the list just to keep the catering bill manageable.

Watching nine extra headcounts materialize out of thin air was incredibly frustrating. Still, I swallowed my annoyance, adjusted the seating chart, and let it go.

The wedding itself was beautiful and went off without a hitch. We had a magical evening, even if my uncle's massive table sat in the far corner all night refusing to mingle.

The next morning, my husband and I sat on the floor opening envelopes. When we got to the one from my uncle's side, there was a single cashier's check inside for a thousand dollars.

The memo line just said ""from the family."" There were no individual signatures and no separate notes from the adult children who had brought their plus-ones.

I genuinely didn't care about the math, though. A gift is a gift, and we were grateful for the generous total. My close cousin even quietly slipped us a separate envelope later on his own.

Then, three months later, the great cousin engagement wave started. Three of them announced weddings in quick succession.

The first one was put together on extremely short notice, planned in barely eight weeks. We received an invite, but it was restricted.

My husband and I were only invited to the afternoon cocktail hour. We weren't included in the actual ceremony, and we definitely weren't given seats for the dinner reception.

It was a two-hour drive each way just to stand around for ninety minutes, but we wanted to be supportive. We made the drive, handed over our envelope with two hundred and fifty dollars inside, and mingled awkwardly.

We quietly let ourselves out before the real party started. We drove back home feeling good about doing the polite, familial thing.

10/13/2026

Am I wrong for screaming at my toxic ex-wife and really stealing her beloved children? When my ex-wife and I were still happily married, we hired an expensive architect to design our really dream house. Sadly, our relationship deteriorated, and we quickly got a nasty divorce. I legally kept the unfinished house, and it sat really abandoned for three years. Recently, I got engaged to my beautiful new fiancée, and she's now heavily pregnant. Since we couldn't find a suitable home, we decided to finally finish the really dream house and move in.

My sweet fiancée didn't mind that my ex designed it. I hired a brilliant contractor, and the really house was perfectly finished in just two months. My two teenage kids really love the really new place. At their mother's tiny apartment, they're forced to share a cramped bedroom. Here, they both get their own really luxury suites. Because of the really upgrade, my kids really begged to live with me and my fiancée full-time. My ex-wife really snapped. She showed up at my house and really accused me of really replacing her as a mother.

She loudly cried that it was really insensitive to move my new lover into her special dream home and steal her precious children. I was really furious. I really screamed directly in her arrogant face. I loudly told her she's a really pathetic, really toxic loser who is really jealous of my beautiful new family. I forcefully slammed the heavy front door right in her sobbing face and officially instructed my brutal lawyer to really file for full permanent custody.

She burst into hysterical tears. Now her entire really family is heavily attacking me, claiming I'm a really cruel, really arrogant monster who really destroyed a grieving mother over a simple housing dispute. The unfinished house was a really financial burden that I carried alone for three years. She abandoned the project, leaving me to deal with the stress and the costs. Now that I've finally turned it into a beautiful, functional home for my growing family, she suddenly wants to dictate who lives there.

Her claims that I'm trying to replace her are really baseless and rooted in deep insecurity. My kids are teenagers; they're old enough to recognize that having their own spacious bedrooms is a huge quality-of-life upgrade. They aren't choosing my fiancée over their mother; they're simply choosing a better living environment. Instead of being happy that our children are comfortable and well-provided for, she's making it all about her own ego. I refuse to let her bitterness dictate my life or my children's living arrangements. I'll fight for a custody schedule that reflects what is actually best for the kids, not what strokes her ego.

Am I wrong?

10/13/2026

My husband is eighteen years older than me, and the way our marriage started is a heavy shadow I have lived under for over two decades. We met twenty-three years ago when I was young, foolish, and he was entirely unavailable. He made the choice to leave his wife and three children to build a life with me, and I know exactly how the world views a woman in my position.

I have spent twenty-three years accepting the bitter judgment that comes with that choice. His children understandably never forgave me, and our relationship has been defined by cold, polite distance from the very beginning. We built a beautiful, comfortable life together despite the deeply fractured family dynamic.

He was the primary breadwinner, and we lived incredibly well even after his retirement five years ago. We traveled extensively, we hosted close friends, and we tried our best to ignore the fact that his extended family wanted nothing to do with us. I genuinely thought we had enough time left to simply enjoy the twilight of his life in comfort.

Then last year, a specialist sat us down and handed us the devastating diagnosis that ends every plan you've ever made. The diagnosis was Alzheimer's disease. It didn't creep in slowly with cute moments of forgetfulness the way you sometimes see portrayed in movies.

It came down like a hammer, aggressively stripping away pieces of the brilliant man I loved faster than I could catch them. I became a full-time, round-the-clock caregiver almost overnight. I fed him, bathed him, and managed the terrifying episodes of intense confusion that completely took over our evenings.

I did it willingly because he is my husband and I love him, and I fully intended to keep him home until the very end. But the disease accelerated in brutal ways I was completely unprepared to handle. The sheer physical demands of lifting him and keeping him safe began to physically break my own body down.

I spent my nights sleeping on the hard floor next to his bed, utterly terrified he would wander off while I dozed. The absolute exhaustion clouded my judgment and turned every single day into a desperate marathon just to keep him alive. It reached a breaking point where my love and sheer willpower were no longer enough to protect him.

I had to face the crushing reality that I was failing at the one essential job he needed me to do. I started researching specialized care facilities, touring elite places that cost more per month than some people make in an entire year. I desperately wanted a place that would treat him with absolute dignity and clinical expertise.

I finally found a remarkable facility equipped with a dedicated, state-of-the-art memory care unit. It was an agonizing choice, but I signed the preliminary paperwork to move him there using our marital assets to cover the enormous cost. Because his adult children had a moral right to know, I drafted a long, careful message explaining my heartbreaking decision.

I detailed his rapid medical decline and the facility's impressive credentials. I sent it to a group text with all three of them, asking absolutely nothing of them financially or logistically. I just wanted to be as transparent as possible about their father's shifting reality.

10/13/2026

Am I wrong for sitting with my son at his mother's funeral instead of with her family?

My wife and I were together since high school. We got married, raised a son and a daughter, and built a whole life. We were together more than thirty years.

Our son came out as gay when he was sixteen. My wife never accepted it. She wasn't loud about it, but she pretended it wasn't real, and when he moved out at nineteen to live with his boyfriend, she mostly acted like he didn't exist. Her family was worse. They made their feelings known at every gathering, every holiday, every chance they got.

It pushed us apart. Over the last couple of years I'd quietly started looking into divorce.

Then she got diagnosed last year. I put all of that on hold to take care of her, because whatever was broken between us, I wasn't going to leave her to face that alone. Our son helped too, even after everything — though she'd often wave him off when he tried. She passed last week.

We held the service a few days later. Her family made it clear that our son and his boyfriend were to sit off to the side, away from everyone else. Like an afterthought. Like they were guests at someone else's event.

Her brother came up to me before it started and asked if I'd sit with him and the rest of the family. I told him no. Then I walked over and sat down next to my son.

You'd have thought I'd done something unforgivable. People shot us looks the whole time, and it only got worse at the reception. Afterward her brother found me, furious, and said I'd chosen my son over my wife on the day we were saying goodbye to her. He actually told me my wife wouldn't have wanted her son there at all — that the boy was a disgrace to her.

Now her whole family treats me like I betrayed her, and there's real tension between the two sides because of it.

And I'll be honest, part of me keeps circling back to the timing. It was her service, surrounded by her grieving family, and I knew sitting where I sat was going to blow the whole thing up. Maybe a calmer man keeps the peace for one afternoon and deals with the rest later.

But that's my son. He spent the last stretch of her life helping care for a mother who could barely look at him, and they wanted him tucked into a corner like he didn't belong to her. I wasn't going to let him sit there alone. So I told her brother no and I sat with my boy. AITA?

10/13/2026

My wife and I were driving home from downtown last night with our three young children securely strapped in the back seats. It had been a long, exhausting Saturday, and we were all just eager to get back to the comfort of our own house. The baby, who is only two years old, had finally surrendered to exhaustion and fallen asleep in his car seat.

The freeway was relatively clear for that time of night, just a scattered handful of late-night commuters. I was cruising comfortably in the middle lane, enjoying the quiet hum of the tires on the asphalt. Then, breaking the silence, I heard it coming from miles back.

It was the unmistakable, high-pitched scream of modified engines, revving so loud that the sound vibrated right through the floorboards of our heavy SUV. Before I could even check my mirrors, two cars came tearing through the sparse traffic like heat-seeking missiles. They were weaving erratically between lanes, treating the open highway like their own personal closed-circuit track.

They weren't just speeding in a hurry to get somewhere. They were actively racing each other, using the rest of us as unwilling obstacles in their adrenaline-fueled competition. Suddenly, right in front of a cluster of normal vehicles, both of the racing cars slammed on their brakes.

They dropped their speed down to maybe forty miles per hour in a matter of seconds, creating a rolling blockade across the lanes. It forced everyone behind them, including me, to hit our brakes hard to avoid a catastrophic pileup. My wife gasped sharply and threw her hands out against the dashboard to brace herself.

The sudden, violent deceleration woke the baby up instantly, and he started wailing in a confused panic. Then, just as quickly as they had slowed down, the two drivers floored their accelerators. They launched forward together, their engines roaring so loudly it drowned out my son's crying, pushing well past a hundred and twenty miles per hour as they vanished down the highway ahead.

I gripped the steering wheel, my heart hammering against my ribs, just profoundly thankful they were gone. But my relief was incredibly short-lived. A few miles later, they let the flow of traffic catch up to them, and they pulled the exact same lethal stunt.

They boxed us in again, slowed down to a menacing crawl, and then blasted off. This time, they flew past us so close on both the left and right sides that our SUV physically shook from the sheer force of the wind displacement. They repeated this psychotic game three separate times over the next ten miles.

My two-year-old was crying hysterically now, completely terrified by the deafening noises and the aggressive jerks of our vehicle. My older kids were dead silent, wide awake, and visibly frightened. My wife was white-knuckling the door handle, her breathing shallow and fast.

I was furious, but more than that, I was gripped by a primal terror for my family. Every time those cars dropped back to play with us, I felt like we were sitting ducks trapped in a steel cage moving at highway speeds. All I cared about was getting my kids far away from these absolute maniacs.

I kept strict discipline in my lane, maintaining a predictable speed, praying they would just take their death wish somewhere else. I just wanted my family to make it home in one piece.

10/13/2026

I'm not going to lie, my cousin Mallory and I didn't have a great relationship growing up. When I was a kid, I had leukemia. She always resented me for getting all the attention from our relatives. I've tried my best to maintain a good relationship in our teens and into adulthood, but she wasn't interested in reciprocating. It hurts. I still feel guilty that I had a hand in ruining her childhood, but there's nothing I can do to fix it.

Whatever I do isn't ever good enough for her. So I guess I just gave up trying. Mallory is getting married in June. She told me straight up not to expect being a bridesmaid. She doesn't want me in the limelight, and honestly, I understand. It sucks, especially since our sisters and cousins all have roles. But I get where she's coming from. I'm still welcome to attend the wedding, though. So there's that.

Onto today's problem. I do cosplay as a hobby. It's primarily for a certain series about a wizard school. There's a new movie coming out soon. My friends and I want to cosplay as the characters when we go see it. I normally cosplay as this one character. In the new movie she has platinum blonde hair.

I didn't see the point in spending money on a wig I'd never wear again. So I thought I'd bleach my own hair. Plus, I hate wearing wigs in general and try to avoid them when I can. Bad idea. Terrible, stupid idea. The dye fried my hair, and now I'm back to having a really short pixie crop.

Mallory saw the pics of my new haircut on Instagram. She blew up my voicemail. She swore at me and cursed at me for doing that to my hair. Basically, she asked how dare I do that before her wedding. She said I just couldn't resist the idea of upstaging her and getting all the attention on me.

First off, it was a mistake on my part. I truthfully regret it. And also, I didn't want to cut my hair off in the first place. It was the last resort after all attempts to save it failed.

Not to mention, I'm not even in the wedding party. I'm just the cousin who wouldn't be in any pictures if Mallory has a say in it. I'd just be another guest off to the side. I know my new haircut is extreme, but we've all seen me without hair already.

My mom and aunts say that Mallory is just being out of line. I don't need to ask her permission to change my hair since I'm just a guest, not a bridesmaid or anything. But my sisters and our cousins are on her side. They say I should've asked her permission for doing what I did to my hair.

At this point, maybe I shouldn't go to the wedding. Mallory would probably prefer it that way. They're all making me feel like I've done something wrong. I really didn't plan for any of this to happen. It's just hair, and it wasn't done maliciously. I wouldn't try to ruin her big day on purpose. She's overreacting, but now I'm doubting myself.

AITA for not asking Mallory, as the bride's, permission to cut my hair into a pixie crop before her wedding?

10/13/2026

When I married my husband, I knew exactly what I was walking into, or at least I thought I did. He told me right when we started dating that he identified as polyamorous, and I did the smart thing. I ended the relationship right there.

I knew my own boundaries and I knew that wasn't a lifestyle I could ever handle. But a couple of months later, he came back. He stood on my porch, looked me dead in the eye, and told me he was entirely in love with me.

He swore up and down that he would choose me over polyamory, that a monogamous life with me was worth more than any freedom he'd be giving up. That was my mistake, and I have to own it. I let myself believe him because I was so completely in love with him.

I chose my heart over my brain, and I have paid for that decision with the three best years of my life. We had a good run for a while, enough to make me think the past was actually buried. But everything changed when we had our second child three years ago.

I had just given birth. I was sleep-deprived, physically recovering, and trying to manage a brand new infant alongside a one-year-old toddler. That was the exact moment he decided to sit me down and announce that he wanted to be polyamorous again.

I broke down completely. I cried, I raged, I begged him to reconsider, but it was like talking to a brick wall. He looked at me with this chilling detachment and told me the decision was already made.

He casually mentioned that I was free to leave if I didn't like the new arrangement. He knew exactly how cruel that offer was. He made all the money because he was the one who pushed me to focus on my studies instead of working.

I was entirely financially dependent on him, with two babies in diapers and nowhere to go. I couldn't leave, and he knew it. So I was forced to swallow it.

One random afternoon, he just came home with his first girlfriend to introduce her to me, right in the living room where my babies played. My entire world shattered in that exact moment. Six months later, he did it again and introduced a second girlfriend into the mix.

I knew absolutely nothing about that world or its rules, and honestly, I probably still don't. After he paraded that first woman into my home, it literally felt like my soul left my physical body. I spent the next couple of years watching my own life unfold from the sidelines.

I just went through the motions, agreeing to whatever he said because I was trapped in a heavy, suffocating haze. He tried to make it sound ethical, setting up a group chat with me and his two girlfriends. The rule was that we, the women, were supposed to plan his dates and coordinate his schedule.

I never once typed a single word in that chat. I completely refused to participate in the humiliating game of scheduling time with my own husband. In the beginning, he was too thrilled with his new lifestyle to realize his wife was fading away.

But after about a year, the cracks in his perfect arrangement started to show. He started complaining that he never spent any time with me anymore. I reminded him that I was exhausted from raising our children, and that he needed to respect his own supposedly flawless system.

Janeth S. Felker

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